Chasing the Memory of Your Name
by TheSouthernScribe
Summary: Response to LJ Request for Supernatural Women Fic- A - Thon. Centers around glimpses of Mary Campbell - Winchester. My background story. Creative liberties taken.


_**Chasing the Memory of Your Name**_

There used to be a time when just the mere mention of his name evoked memories of rosy cheeks and tight sandy blonde curls spilling in beautiful ribbons all over his tiny head. When he was here – smiling – healthy – happy, Mary's family embodied all those things. Now his name was a curse. The memory of his laugh a nightmare her parents refused to recall. There were days when she opened the boxes in the corner of the attic for some fragment of a day long ago; when Mary Campbell was not introduced as Sam and Deana's only child. A wrinkle in the moments of her life when she was a big sister, instead she found a photo of her holding on to that forgotten child for dear life.

His smile was wide. His arms open welcomed her to his offered hug. Michael was only five at the time bursting with love while at age seven, Mary was a natural nurturer who doted on and cared for her baby brother. He's naïve. She's cynical. Yet their two halves form the whole of the hearts of their parents.

It's this day, the one when the photo was taken that is the last time anyone saw him. They're dressed in white. Feet stained by the black mud bordering the banks of the creek behind their grandparents' home. Their faces sticky with the homemade goodness of the strawberry ice cream their mother churned. It's Michael's birthday. Mary can still smell the cake, cream, and distant embers of a charcoal grill wafting through the air. She can still feel death.

The sun is bright and burning their eyes. Young Mary used her tiny freckled arm to block the rays; bringing it down only to meet a pair of sickening yellow orbs. Fear registered in her limbs and a name was etched in the recesses of her mind, Azazel. Mary's hands began to shake and as much as she willed for her mouth to open, she cannot scream. It took one flick of the stranger's wrist and she was pinned against the front door, wiggling and fighting to break free of the menacing hold. Michael's gone. His scream the only sound she remembered.

No one blamed her. They didn't have to. The weight on her shoulders was heavier than any look her mother could deliver or words her father would ever speak. June 25th would never be the same. No more freshly made ice cream. The celebrations ended, replaced only by her father's worship of a bottle and her mother's refusal to leave her bedroom. It's still a birth day of sorts, the day the Campbell family accepted destiny's call and their fate in the war between good and evil.

***

Mary cocked the shotgun, leveled it with her shoulder, and fired off a round that landed precisely in the ass of her intended victim.

A garbled _shit_ left the wounded demon's lips.

"Get your sorry ass up."

This was Friday night lights for Mary. No football games, short skirts, or underage drinking. Well occasionally she managed to sneak a burning gulp of her dad's whiskey but never for fun. Sometimes it was to calm her nerves or to erase the memory that replayed over and over again preventing her from drifting to sleep.

She kicked the man crumpled on the ground writhing in pain, "I said get up. When did hell start recruiting such punk ass lower level scum?"

The demon's black eyes burned with rage and he growled.

"That got a rise out of you." Mary laughed with a sinister smile lining her lips.

Before she knew it, the demon pressed her against a tree she struggled to breathe due to the air restricted by the hands that tightened around her neck. No fear, Samuel Campbell's words replayed in her mind. Never show them fear.

"Do it." Mary managed to spit as prideful as ever. Death would be a welcome relief. At least she wouldn't have to keep wasting day and night chasing the shadows. Most people thought the boogey man and things that go bump in the night were figments of the imagination of those who were deemed insane. They were real and a Campbell family specialty. Samuel, Deana, and Mary were hunters of the phenomena that people closed their eyes to in an attempt to ignore what her family knew to be truth and not fabricated urban legends.

"I won't give you what you want." The demon whispered against her skin. She wasn't the only one good at reading people and the motives behind their actions.

He dropped Mary to the ground and she fought to get to her feet, gun clutched tightly to her chest, and ready for a fight.

"Stop looking, _Azazel_ – WILL COME – but when _HE'S _ready." The demon's tongue was heavy with the accent of a forgotten language. He spoke with sordid pleasure about the ascent of their army's most powerful general.

And then in the blink of an eye, the demon was gone, only his laugh lingered on the night air. _Azazel_ it's the first time she connected the past to the present. Her already short nails were bleeding from the continued attention of her teeth. Now the anger buried deep within her soul had a face to hunt and an enemy to destroy.

Dead branches forty feet to her left creaked from the weight of a body settled on them. The shotgun was aimed, trigger caressed, and Mary was prepared to fire. Until Samuel Campbell stepped from the darkness with his hands raised high in the air. His face held that familiar and comforting smirk. The one that told her the coast was clear and it was time to head to home. Mary breathed a sigh of relief, her eyes traveled to the distance where the sky was illuminated by the stadium lights.

The cheers of the crowd soared through the darkness. A feeling of regret passed through Mary. The tears that stung her eyes were a surprise. No, this would not be the life of her children. Maybe just maybe her son would be captain of the football team, student body president, or just the average everyday high school kid who hated his parents and did things in the backseat of a car that he would rather take to his grave than tell his mother. Her daughter could be the smartest and prettiest girl in the school; anything other than a demon hunter.

"I wanted that for you too." Samuel Campbell shared before walking in the direction of where his wife Deana waited with the car.

That was the night Mary learned that her father was a broken man; jaded by tests and trials that he didn't believe Jesus would have passed or endured. Mary gladly sat by her father's recliner, the Colt rested in her lap as he slept. Now she understood.

***

John Winchester had one dimple on the left side of his face. When he would smile, it hung like a crescent moon in the night sky. Then there were his eyes, daggers that shot straight through to Mary's soul. For weeks he didn't say a word. He would watch her in the hall – the gym – the cafeteria. It unnerved her. A sixteen year old boy scared her like no minion of hell ever had. Finally he said hello and everything changed.

Her mother smiled sweetly, shaking her head in response to her daughter's new fondness for returning home later than usual. Samuel Campbell didn't have the same view of his daughter's infatuation with 'the Winchester boy'; instead he pulled her out of the diner one Friday night, embarrassing her in front of all her friends.

"You don't have time for friends, there's a war coming. Fight or die Mary, which one is it?"

"Fuck it; all of you can go straight to hell, enough with this stupid war and your black eyed demons."

In the midst of her angry stalk home, John appeared. Relief washed over Mary. Arousal tickled the nerves of her body, and warmed the sensitive core that she longed for him to touch. When his arms pulled her to his chest as his lips met hers, she forgot about her father, the fight, and the fact that in the supernatural world she had a big red target painted on her back. She could smell cake, cream, and charcoal. Happiness flooded her and she prayed silently to the God she wanted to believe was there, that this was real.

She groaned when the kiss ended. She leaned back to stare at John. His eyes had changed from those warm chocolate brown pools of hope to that sick shade of yellow. She felt it again – fear - lodged in the very marrow of her bones.

"That was better than what I expected."

She didn't have to ask it was him - Azazel. His finger- John's finger traced her cheek and traveled to her red swollen lips. She wanted him to kiss her again. He was enticing.

"The things we could do together, my sweet little Mary." The other hand crept under her blouse, pinched her nipple through the lace of her bra. The spell wore off and left fury in its wake. This wasn't John. This was the yellow eyed bastard impersonating him; the fucker who had taken Michael. She kicked him; watching as he fell only to stand again in a matter of seconds. He was amused by her turn to violence. "Good I like my women to have a little fight." Mary backhanded him and even more disturbing he let her. His nose, John's nose bled. Azazel brushed his thumb under his nostril, sucking the blood from it; closing his eyes to delight in the taste.

"I like you Mary."

The sound of a rifle in the distance pulled Mary from the trance threatening to drag her under yet again. In the moment it took for her to turn and follow the sound, Azazel disappeared. Samuel rushed to his daughter's side, covering her with his jacket as he brushed down her blonde curls. The ones he touched to calm his own nerves more than hers.

"I'm sorry." Are the only words Mary can manage in that space of time.

***

Mary knew it was Michael before his mouth opened and the painful sound reached her ears. She fell to the ground in an attempt to shelter her self from the torture. When he reached for her hand, there was relief as he lifted her up to stand before him. They only had a few seconds. John's engine could be heard in the distance. They were going to get married before another war or evil could separate the love they had built.

"Mrs. Winchester." The words left her brother's mouth and it was an acknowledgement of a pending blessing. "Azazel only helped to fulfill our Master's plan. He has it wrong Mary. Never lose faith. Make the deal. There will be loss. You will endure unimaginable pain. It is necessary for our victory in the end." Michael was silent yet when he cupped her face, one name was whispered into her mind, heart and spirit. Dean.

For the first time in years, there is a sense of peace registered in Mary.

That night she consummated her promise with John. They made love, it wasn't the first time, but things were different. The demonic battle of wills would end. She was supposed to be here, with him, in love, and alive. The life of her children would be different. They would have power. They would restore the balance. The elation was halted by the grip of a warm hand and those eyes. The same ones that always followed when she believed she had it all figured out.

Mary's resolve cracked, before her was the form of her father Samuel Campbell. The stench of death filled the air. There was no time to mourn the loss of her parents. Mary could hear John in the background. He was confused. She could feel his fear. Frozen and unable to move as she watched John's neck snap at the hands of her demon father. It's too late to cry. She wanted to scream Michael's name. Curse the God, who said this was part of the plan until she remembered…

_Make the deal._

Confusion was lodged on Azazel's face as she smiled before sealing their agreement. John brought back to life can only sense that he's missed something in the moments leading to the kiss he received from Mary.

Years later when Mary hauled John's lifeless body from the raging currents of the Grand Canyon, Michael was on the rocks again at war with a spirit of vengeance. A battle that was won and a victory evidenced by the breaths John took. She heard the name Dean whispered on the wind yet again.

Nine months passed and when the baby's eyes opened for the first time, she's not surprised to find they're just like Michael's. The tears are masked as happiness but they are relief that promises will be kept.

Time carried on and another child was birthed from the love between Mary and John. There was hope for the life her sons would live but she knew they possessed two very different destinies. She was prepared for whatever would come. She had accepted their fates and her impending death.

With a new determination, Mary entered her youngest son's nursery. There was a prayer on her heart for the man downstairs asleep in his favorite chair and the older child in the next room who had already been marked by the angels.

The familiar movement of the man's wrist had her body forced against the ceiling. It was a simple comfort. Mary was no longer disturbed by those eyes. His endgame was obvious and doomed to result in failure. Mary found that anger was still present deep within. Rage burned as Azazel dripped blood in the mouth of wailing baby Sam. Regardless of her family's accepted fate, tears streamed down her face.

"Last words?" His tone was filled with condescension.

"You got it _wrong_." The words came between gasps for air.

Azazel went rigid and his full irritation was unleashed on her. Mary's body was incinerated.

Power and passion united by a long line of warriors was alive and coursed through the veins of a four year old who would one day smite the head of her enemy.


End file.
